


For time and all eternity

by SiwgrGalon



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Politics, Romance, mcpriceley, post-election coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-31 02:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8559505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SiwgrGalon/pseuds/SiwgrGalon
Summary: Shameless, possibly plotless, and slightly self-indulgent fluff to try and cope with the election result.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to cheer myself up a little; but I thought we could possibly all use something a little sweet and hopeful.

Kevin’s head is fuzzy when he wakes. His eyes flutter, and he can’t help the low groan escaping his throat when he feels the remaining soreness in his bones and the headache still quietly thumping on in the back of his head. 

This might not have been a full-blown flu, but it still feels bad enough. That said, it’s definitely better than the rest of the past week had been; at least Kevin doesn’t feel like death warmed up anymore, and tomorrow is definitely going to be the last day he’s off work. 

For a moment, he just lies there, trying to orientate himself in the dark and to find out why exactly he’s awake. Connor isn’t lying next to him, which would normally be a little weird, but given the date, Kevin thinks he’s probably too wired to sleep, or woke up. A look at his phone reveals it’s just after midnight; the flat is quiet, too, save for the very faintly audible hum of the TV. 

Suspicion confirmed, then. Connor wouldn’t miss election night, unless he had abolutely no other choice. Good thing then he works in theatre an can, theoretically, sleep until well past noon. (Not that he ever does, unless he has good reasons. Kevin quickly learnt even cast nights out do not qualify as a good reason, and Connor is wide awake at 9am, latest.)

When he hears a retching from the bathroom, Kevin feels instantly more awake. Just before the former missionary went to sleep, and the redhead made his way to the theater, his partner seemed happy and healthy with no sign of him picking up Kevin’s cold.

Not to mention it’s rare for Connor to be sick in any form. Which is why hearing him throw up makes alarm bells ring in Kevin’s mind. 

He’s briefly torn between dashing over to offer some comfort and remaining where he is, wrapped in his blanket. He knows Connor probably would want to be on his own - last year, when he had the stomach flu, he camped out in their guest bedroom and wouldn’t let Kevin catch more than a glimpse of him. At the same time, Kevin also knows his husband likes to be fussed over now and then. 

Before he can make up his mind, however, the water flushes and the unmistakable sound of someone brushing their teeth carries through. 

So the blond slowly sits up, blearily fixing his gaze onto the ensuite door, and waits. As his eyes adapt, and with the TV and their open curtains providing a little light, he can at least see a little. 

A few minutes later, Connor silently emerges. In the dim half-light, and with the door’s shadow falling onto him, Kevin can’t make out much beyond his husband’s tall figure and a hand running through hair, in a way that betrays something isn’t sitting quite right. 

‘Hey, what’s up?’ 

Kevin momentarily flinches at how hoarse he sounds; Connor flinches, too, because he was in his own world and didn’t realize his partner was awake. 

‘You okay?’ 

They’ve been together long enough for Kevin to fluently learn his husband’s expressive body language. The way he turns his feet in, after stepping closer, and how he wraps an arm around his stomach betray nothing good. 

The blond just pats the space next to him in invitation. 

Without further prompting, the former District Leader graciously sits down on his side of the bed, half turning towards his partner. 

‘I’m fine, don’t worry,’ he murmurs, touching his hand to Kevin’s forehead as if to check for a fever. 

‘Go back to sleep, darling, your body still needs it.’ 

From up close, Kevin can make out faint lines of worry and discomfort in his partner’s face. He doesn’t look sick (that’s a relief), but there’s something else about him that’s different. 

‘I heard you throw up,’ Kevin says quietly, reaching out from beneath his coccoon to link his fingers with his husband’s and tug him further onto the bed.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’ 

A silent nod is all he gets in response. At the same time, Connor squeezes Kevin’s hand, tightly, as if he’s afraid. 

Suddenly, Kevin has an idea what could be wrong.

‘It’s the election, isn’t it?’ 

When all he encounters is more silence, interrupted only by a slight hitch in Connor’s breathing, Kevin gets suspicious. His politically engaged husband, who stayed up until now, wouldn’t usually keep his opinions to himself if he had good news. 

But maybe it’s close, or something else happened, or he’s just genuinely sick and feeling absolutely horrid with one of those 24-hour stomach bugs which just hit you out of the blue. 

Still, Kevin presses on. 

‘Connor?’ 

‘I love you, Kevin. No matter what happens, please know I love you, and you’ll always be my husband.’

And just like that, the sinking feeling in his stomach has been exchanged for a massive rock. A hot wave crashes over him, making his skin prickle and his hands tingle as the shivers travels down his back. 

‘Trump made it, didn’t he?’ 

Across from him, Connor’s eyes widen. Simultaneous, his hand tightens on Kevin’s, the metal of Connor’s wedding band leaving a little indent. But there is no sound.

‘Connor, answer my question, please. You’re scaring me. Did Donald Trump win the election?’ 

Still looking like a deer caught in the headlights, the redhead just nods mutely. 

‘Yeah,’ he mumbles, swallowing thickly. 

‘Yeah, it looks like he did.’

The tears are unexpected, still. Kevin knows his partner has been anxious about this election - to put it mildly - but to see him this distraught over the result tugs at his heart. 

Yet, being mindful of Connor needing his voice to work and possibly wanting space, he keeps his distance for now. It makes his chest ache, but he doesn’t want to spread his lurgy. 

‘And I’m scared, Kevin, I really am.’ 

By now, he’s full-on crying. There are no heaving sobs, nothing beyond a little hiccup here and there - it’s a perfect picture of defeat, how Connor still sits up straight, tears running unchecked down his face as he regards Kevin with a look so vulnerable the other man has to swallow in response. 

‘We’ll be fine,’ he presses out, taken aback how thick his own voice sounds, how heavy his tongue feels. 

‘For now, we’ll be absolutely fine.’ 

He can see the panic in Connor’s eyes, and subconsciously Kevin scoots a little closer. He doesn’t understand this, doesn’t understand panic attacks - he never had one, and his election anxiety expressed himself in the form of a little less restful sleep and a lot more work being done – but if he learnt something, then that being direct and concise works, at least for Connor. Doubts, judgement, or telling people to snap out of it don’t. 

‘Are you having a panic attack, Connor?’ 

After a second’s hesitation, the redhead shakes his head no. 

‘No… no, I’ve had one, hence the…,’ he makes a funny little gesture that looks a lot like 'throwing up your guts' before continuing, ‘but it’s over. 

' Or rebounding, maybe. This is just remaining election anxiety. Futuristic fear. Whatever.’ 

If he’s honest with himself, Kevin has never been much into politics. Or rather, he never questioned it. He always assumed his parents voted Republican, like most Mormon families in their social circle. So when he was allowed to vote for the first time, that’s what Kevin voted, too. 

That’s what he did four years ago, too, and then somehow ended up telling Connor; the resulting argument hadn’t been pretty, but they had eventually settled down without breaking up or one of them meeting his untimely end. 

(The making up, Kevin thought, had been worth it. Still, he wanted that particular argument to never resurface again.) 

Because for Connor, it’s an entirely different story. Raised in similar circles to Kevin, although in an entirely different state, he’d always been interested in politics. Involved, even if only intellectually, through his school’s debating club. When they fought, the last time, Connor had revealed he’d always voted against what his parents believed in an invisible act of late-onset teenage rebellion. 

This year, for the first time, Kevin had actually looked into programs, into what the candidates believed. It had been revealing, and he’d been ashamed for a second; in the end, his cross had landed somewhere it had never been before. 

It had been confusingly freeing. Now, the idea that it’d had all been for naught felt crushing. 

‘But… we’re in danger now, Kevin. Theoretically. On paper.’ 

‘Why? Nothing has happened yet. She could still win.’ 

It’s a moot point, even to Kevin’s own ears. Yet here he is, trying to use it to calm Connor, who seems intent on talking himself into a heightened stage of panic. 

‘But… Mike Pence!’

‘What’s so bad about him?’ 

It’s out before Kevin can stop himself. So maybe his research hadn’t gone beyond the main candidates, but he can’t really fathom why the VP should be any worse than his big boss. 

‘Oh, gosh, that sounded ignorant. But I have to admit, I didn’t… look quite that far? Sorry, I’m genuinely clueless.’ 

Across from him, Connor has started chewing on the skin on his thumb, his eyes still fixed onto Kevin. His reaction to the younger man’s admission, though, is entirely unexpected: slowly, Connor scoots closer. His hand tightening around his husband’s, he tangles their legs and rests his cheek against Kevin’s chest, his head cradled against Kevin’s shoulder and arm. 

Unprompted, the other man loosens their hands, curling his now-free arm around the redhead while his other hand reaches over to take Connor’s hand once more. 

There’s a low clink as their wedding rings meet and for a second, a different kind of warmth floods Kevin.

‘You’ll get my cold like this,’ he mumbles. 

‘I don’t care. It’s probably too late anyways,’ comes the reply, Connor turning his head slightly to look up at him. 

‘If I’m supposed to get it, I already have it anyways. Even if we had separate duvets for once and didn't kiss, we still shared a bed.’ 

‘Hm.’

Silence falls while they just stare ahead, but Kevin can’t let it rest for longer than a minute. 

‘So, Mike Pence…?’ 

A deep sigh. Connor swallows, again, and somehow it all feels quite gravely. 

‘He supports conversion therapy.’ 

Kevin feels like someone knocked all the air out of his lungs. Suddenly, he gets a good idea why Connor panicked, why he was so afraid he threw up. 

‘Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,’ is all he can say in response, hugging his partner closer still. The tears are slowly soaking through his t-shirt, but he couldn’t ever mind. 

Least of all today. Least of all now.

‘I’m sorry, I should’ve done my homework,’ he murmurs, swallowing his own tears. Kevin Price isn’t one to get overly emotional - or rather, weepy - but seeing the man he swore eternal love and faithfulness to like this… it does things to him. Things which mean Kevin can’t quite hold back all tears of his own, with a few falling into red hair and making the strands turn a darker, rusty color. 

‘He won’t get you, Connor. You’re a grown man, you can make your own decisions. Nobody can force you back into this, and if they try, I won’t let them.’ 

‘I know. But what about other people? Teenagers like me, who will be crushed by this, and then, like me, suddenly wake up, at the age of 22, and realize they’re not straight after all, and their mental health isn’t quite what it should be, and they need help?’ 

Now he’s talking himself into some sort of a rage, but Kevin lets the ginger just blurt it all out. Usually, that does the trick; Connor’s therapy sessions also bear witness to that, considering how much they’ve helped him over the years. 

Slowly, the redhead rolls over, forcing Kevin to lie down a little more to accommodate him. He’s is still crying and has started shaking now,too. In trying to soothe him, Kevin just opens his cape and, once his partner has cozied up, draws the duvet around them, covering his partner’s hips and below.

The warmth is soothing for them both, it seems. The young man can feel the flow of tears against his neck slow, can feel Connor making an effort to regulate his breathing and calm himself.

A sniffle breaks the silence, before he slowly rises on his forearms and looks Kevin in the eyes. 

‘What if our marriage is annulled?’ 

Ah, so that’s the thing. Kevin can’t deny that he’s worried, even more so now, but he’s also fairly sure all that matters is already where it belongs. 

‘I love you either way, with or without a paper stating we’re married,’ he murmurs, wiping Connor’s cheeks and pulling him close again. 

‘And if everything fails, and we’re in danger, we can always run away to Europe, thanks to you.’ 

The former District Leader has started stroking Kevin’s sides, only with the tips of his fingers. The tickling sensation is enough to raise goosebumps and send a pleasant shiver down Kevin’s spine. 

‘But that can’t be right,’ the redhead mumbles, burying his forehead in the junction where Kevin’s shoulder meets his neck. 

‘And I don’t know if I could. I spent my entire life fighting to be allowed to be me, the real me… and not for a lack of trying to be someone else, but we saw where that landed me. In the last years, we gained so many rights, I gained so many rights.

‘I’m not strong enough for any of that to be taken away from me again.’

The last sentence is merely a broken whisper. In the silence of the room, and considering the situation’s considerably serious character, Kevin feels like the quiet only amplifies what was said. 

‘I object. I think you are strong enough.’ 

The sound from below his chin is one of disagreement, which makes Kevin chuckle a little. 

As if on their own accord, one of his hands runs into Connor’s hair, teasing and tangling and playing with the thick strands.

‘Yeah you are. You defied the Mormon Church all by yourself when we were still missionaries. They wanted to shut us down, and you just said “No, I refuse to accept that” and made it work. That was incredible.’

It’s one of the things Kevin always admired about him. While it might have been the former missionary who pushed (Kevin preferred ‘cajoled’…) his District Leader into a meeting, it was McKinley himself who delivered a speech nobody would forget so soon. 

With the walls being paper thin, all the missionaries had heard Connor discuss the district’s future with the Mission President. Thee argument had been heated, but respectful, and Kevin thought Connor taught them all a great lesson, without even trying. 

In the end, the missionaries had been allowed to stay and even secured church funding. It truly had been a minor miracle. 

‘You’re incredible, Con. And you’re married to a journalist at one of the world’s biggest, most respected publications, who’s not afraid to speak his mind. So, if we combine our our friends, my colleagues and your cast, we are one gang nobody should mess with.’

‘I’m not sure Trump and Pence would care about that, to be honest,’ comes the muttered reply, before Connor leans up once more. 

‘After all, they are where they wanted to be, and it’ll be hard to get rid of them until the four years are over.’ 

‘But we’re not alone in our shock, either.’

The other man doesn’t look convinced at all, one eyebrow arched in question. Combined with the tear tracks and the slowly building dark circles under his eyes, it looks a little ridiculous, which in turn tempts Kevin to ruffle his hair. 

Instead of the expected squeal of complaint, Connor just sighs, deeply, and attempts to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. At that, Kevin winces a little, because his partner is wearing a rather nice button down. 

‘It’s not just that, though,’ the redhead hums, followed by another sigh. 

‘What about Naba and Arnold? She’s going to have so much trouble, now; and just think of their twins. True, they only just started kindergarten, but… can’t you see this? It’s not just us, it’s not just gay couples, it’s everyone. It’s Naba, and it’s Miss Brown, and it’s our stage manager Ricardo, and it’s Muslims, and any immigrant, and LGBT people, and women….’

As he listens to Connor talk, Kevin feels a surge of something warm, something fuzzy rise inside him, despite the situation and what it could mean for them. 

If he’s entirely honest with himself, the prospect of their future changing, of the laws which brought them so much freedom being taken. 

Most of all, he’s scared by the prospect of losing the freedom to publicly show his affection to his husband. They rarely have to in New York, so Kevin can’t imagine what it’s like to have to turn around, to scan your surroundings before you take your partner’s hand, go in for a hug or kiss them.

‘Let’s go to sleep,’ he whispers, leaning up to press a kiss against Connor’s forehead. 

‘Even if it’s just to stop you worrying.’

His partner still doesn’t look convinced. With his brows knotting together in confusion and, maybe, displeasure, he looks simultaenously very old and like a petulant teenager. 

‘I don’t think I can sleep tonight,’ he finally admits, letting his head drop against Kevin’s shoulder with a low, pained groan.

‘Gosh, look at me. Anxious for weeks - so anxious the result gave me a panic attack and made me throw up, and now I’m absolutely shattered, but too wired to sleep.’ 

Rolling away from Kevin, the redhead flops onto his back, spreading out like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling. A few seconds later, Kevin turns onto his side, resting his head on one hand to look at his other half. 

‘And if we’re really lucky, this’ll send me into a minor depressive episode. Isn’t that great? It must be amazing, living with me.’

Watching him, Kevin has to smile at his husband’s dramatics. Sometimes he wishes Connor could see how far he’s come, and how different he is - especially when it comes to the whole ‘letting all your feelings out’-thing - to Elder McKinley. True, most of it is down to just stopping to pretend he’s straight (and, Kevin likes to think, a lot of it is also down to their relationship), but therapy and medication have contributed their fair share, too. 

‘It is. Because you are amazing,’ he answers, letting his free hand rest on Connor’s stomach. 

‘Otherwise, I wouldn’t have married you.’

A little scoff, but then a small smile spreads over Connor’s face and he looks to the side, right at Kevin. 

‘You always know what to say,’ he says, a tinge of sadness in his voice. 

‘I don’t want to lose the right to call you my husband. To hug you, to kiss you on the street if I want to, to walk hand in hand down Broadway.’

He looks like he’s about to cry again, and Kevin feels like if he does, he’ll follow. 

‘Hush, don’t cry. You’re exhausted. Let’s go to sleep; now that we’re back to nearly no boundaries except kissing, we’ll cuddle up, and… why are you looking at me like that?’ 

‘I’m really afraid, Kevin.’ 

‘I know. So am I.’

Admitting it is hard, but it’s true, and Connor deserves nothing but. With a little smile, Kevin flicks open two of the middle buttons on the other man’s shirt. 

‘Come on. Get out of those, take an Ambien if you need it, and then let’s call it a night. I’ll switch off everything.’ 

So they peel out of bed, Kevin switching off the TV and the lights while Connor gets ready. When the young man is back in bed, he gets a clear view of his husband sitting down again, half-dressed in a pair of ridiculous, pink plaid pajama bottoms but with their normal, king-sized duvet back in place.

‘Leave the shirt be,’ Kevin says after a heartbeat, before taking off his own shirt and getting under the covers. The eyeroll he receives makes him chuckle and throw in 'I just want to feel your skin', before Connor fishes for one of the little white tablets. 

‘I’m pretty sure I shouldn’t be taking these anymore,’ he mumbles, before taking a long swig of water. 

‘Well, this once, it’ll hopefully be fine,’ Kevin answers, throwing the duvet back in invitation. 

‘Think you should ask for a new batch next time you get your prescription checked?’ 

‘Probably,’ Connor sighs as he slides next to Kevin, turning towards him and tangling their feet. 

‘I mean, I've maybe taken what, ten? Twenty, maybe? Over nearly two years. But I probably should, just so I’m prepared when insurance costs rise and I have to get off my antidepressants because we're all so unaffordable Equity won’t pay everything anymore.’ 

This time, it’s Kevin who scoffs as he pulls Connor closer. The man in question readily slings his arm around the other's waist, nestling into the embrace and pressing a long, tender kiss to his partner's jawline. As they lay, curled up and breathing slowly falling into sync, Kevin thinks the discussion is done, until Connor speaks up once more.

‘But, genuinely, what do we do? With all of this, I mean. Not the future, but the imminent… situation.’ 

‘Now, we go to sleep,’ Kevin whispers in Connor’s ear, already half asleep. 

‘Tomorrow, we check in on our friends, especially on Naba and Arnold, and we mourn. And then we rise, and we won’t let hate win, because we stand together and I’m not letting anyone take this, take you, away from me.’ 

‘So you really wanna keep me? That’s the gist I get from this… that the result is second to you staying with me, really.’ 

Despite the teasing, there is a note of concern in Connor’s voice, interlaced with exhaustion. 

‘Gosh, carrot top, shut up.’

It’s meant in jest, and Kevin is sure his eyeroll and the smile are clearly audible, just like the little giggle from Connor’s side. 

‘Of course I care about what this means for all of us, but for now, I want to enjoy being married to you while I still am.’ 

‘Well…’ 

‘No argument,’ comes the tired rebuttal, before Connor can say anything more. 

‘I said for time and all eternity when I married you, and I meant it.’ 

He’s not sure if he imagines it, but either way the small, relieved sounding sigh makes Kevin hopeful for the future. 

Because even if he wouldn’t fully admit it, and if he tells himself it’s only for Connor’s sake to not send him off flying again, Kevin is scared. 

Because he already knows that, if anything, tomorrow won’t be better, just more real, more terrifying. 

But they’ll deal with that when they’ve reached it. For now, all that counts is the warm body next to him and how they’re wrapped up in each other. So Kevin cuddles a little closer, waiting until Connor’s breath evens out - silently thanking whoever invented them for how quick Ambien work - before he allows himself to follow his husband into sleep. 

The last thing he hears is the redhead’s sleepy whisper of ‘maybe it’s just a bad dream after all’.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm actually thinking about writing a second chapter looking at Arnold and, especially, Naba, because they're bound to face a whole different set of problems. There might also be a sequel for the boys in this, but I don't want to make any big promises. 
> 
> This work is also not beta'd, and I proofread it so often I'm bound to have missed something (and since my writing program doesn't spellcheck by default) - if you find any grave mistakes, please don't hesitate to flag them up. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. :)


End file.
